Two Girls of Gettysburg (5 page)

Mama didn’t reply but went on speaking her own thoughts. “I’m
less worried about your father than I am about Luke. He is so young, I’m afraid he will do something rash in battle.”

“But he’s a musician, not a soldier,” I reminded her.

“A drum won’t satisfy him for long,” Mama predicted.

I knew what she meant. The thought of Luke with his hands on a gun was scary. He would have a lark, shooting at anything that moved, just to see if he could hit it.

“You know, Mama,” I said to change the subject, “I’m excited about attending the Ladies’ Seminary this fall. I admit I’m a little afraid of Mrs. Pierpont, even though Rosanna says she is not as stern as she looks. I will help out at the shop before and after school and work on the accounts at night.”

Mama was regarding her hands in her lap.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I believe you can read and cipher well enough,” she said.

Her words alarmed me. “If I’m going to be a teacher, I have much more to learn.”

“The tuition is costly, you know.”

“That is because the best families of Gettysburg send their daughters there,” I said. “We are as good as anybody in town.”

“That sounds like something a McGreevy would say,” Mama said sourly.

“Don’t you want me to succeed? To get an education?”

“Of course I do. But I want your father’s business to succeed too.”

Her words were like cold water splashed in my face. I drew in my breath sharply.

“It’s not … not that bad, is it?”

“You know our income is falling—”

“But it’s only temporary, until the war ends!”

“Some merchants are thriving because of the war, Lizzie. I’ve heard that large meatpackers out west are getting rich on government contracts. For small businesses like ours, however, there is real hardship ahead if the war goes on.”

“Amos knows what he is doing,” I said. I tried to sound confident, even though I thought that no one could be as capable as Papa.

“Yes, I trust him. But he cannot do the work of two men and one girl. I need you at the shop.”

“But it’s Papa who wants me to go to school. He even mentioned it in his letter!” I cried, growing desperate.

“Your father is not here now. I make the decisions. Ben will go to school because he must master the basic subjects. You, however, will not go to the Ladies’ Seminary this fall.”

I jumped from the bed and confronted my mother, my fists clenched so hard they hurt. “What? But you and Papa promised! It’s so unfair!” Tears spilled from my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, I truly am. All of us must make sacrifices … for a time.”

Mama’s voice broke. Usually I was afraid to see her cry, but this time I didn’t care if I hurt her. I turned away and slammed the door behind me. There went all my hopes for the coming fall: new notebooks, lessons in poetry and literature, and walking to school every day, arm in arm with Rosanna.

For days I sulked over this disappointment, my face stiff and heavy with resentment. Rosanna urged me to keep begging, but I knew it would be vain. Mama’s mind was made up. After a few days, Amos asked what was bothering me, and the kindness in his dark eyes made me reveal everything to him.

“Oh, Amos, Mama says I have to give up school because we can’t afford it. It’s unfair, and I’m so angry.” I felt tears rising up and bit my lip hard to stop them. “I know I shouldn’t blame her, but I can’t help it.”

“Looks like you goin’ to have to get an education in hidin’,” he said. “Like my folk always done.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t say anything to your ma, if you was to bring in a book an’ read in it from time to time,” he replied, winking.

I felt myself start to smile. I borrowed
The History of the Roman Empire
and
The Legends of King Arthur
from Margaret, who had four shelves of books in her drawing room. I kept them in a box below the counter and read when there were no customers in the shop. Every day Amos made me tell him one thing I had learned, and eventually he was familiar with Julius Caesar, Nero, and Sir Lancelot. I borrowed a volume of Shakespeare, and Amos was as surprised as I was to learn that he had written a play about a Negro,
Othello.

Though I escaped from time to time into a book, I soon began to realize that Mama was right, the business was in trouble. When I couldn’t get the accounts to balance, I turned the ledger over to Mama, and she sat at the kitchen table until late into the night, poring over the invoices and the orders and shaking her head. It was undeniable. We were losing money.

It was not Amos’s fault, that was certain. He worked from sunup until dark. I would sometimes pause to watch him butcher a hog, hanging its carcass by the hocks while the blood drained, flaying its skin and then pulling it from the body like a jacket. He would cut through the thick white belly fat and remove the heart and the glistening reddish brown liver. The entrails would uncoil and spill onto the ground, smelling of rot and death, and he would not even flinch.
With sure blows of his cleaver, he would separate the rib cage from the spinal column, then cut off the loins that hung like saddlebags on each side.

Eventually I could look at a carcass and know how the cuts would fit into a barrel of brine and then figure in my head how much income the meat would bring. It was never enough. I learned each customer’s preferences and set aside the best cuts of meat for them. But some people just couldn’t pay, and out of pity Mama extended their credit. We always wrote to Papa that we were managing fine, to keep him from worrying.

Amos also tried to reassure Mama. “Why, ma’am, it’s jus’ goin’ to take us a while to all ketch on to the way Mistuh Allbauer run his shop. He always been the best in this town, and we are doin’ our best too.”

“Yes, Amos, you are doing a fine job,” said Mama. “Business should improve when the farmers bring in their cattle for slaughter.”

One day Amos set out to deliver a keg of salt pork to old Mr. Schmidt, the tavern keeper. Sometimes I rode along and talked with the customers while Amos unloaded the cart. On this occasion, Mr. Schmidt stood with his hands in his pockets and made no move to help Amos carry the heavy keg. He thrust some bills at me and I counted them. There were only twelve dollars. He owed me twenty-five. I glanced uncertainly from him to Amos.

“That’s all yer gettin’ this time,” Mr. Schmidt said. “Last barrel, the meat was all rancid. This’n better be fresh.” He glared at Amos.

“Yes, sir. Packed jus’ this week, sir,” said Amos. “Mighty sorry about that last barrel.”

Mr. Schmidt stomped away. Amos climbed up and took the reins. I was shaking with indignation when we pulled away.

“We never would have sold him bad meat! And he underpaid me. You should have stood up to him.”

“It ain’t my place to challenge a white man, even if he’s wrong,” said Amos, his brow set in an angry frown.

Nor could I say anything, I thought, being merely a girl.

“That’s mighty unfair, it seems to me,” I said, hitting my thighs with my fists. I wished for Papa to return. No one would dare cheat him.

I was still boiling mad about Mr. Schmidt when Rosanna came into the shop later that day, wearing a pretty flowered muslin dress. Amos was working at a butcher block in the back room.

“Doesn’t the smell bother you?” Rosanna said, wrinkling her nose.

“Animals are raised to be eaten. That’s a fact. Even in a fine city like Richmond,” I said, for I was feeling irritable.

“Well, it just seems … brutal.”

“No, killing a man is brutal,” I said, and flipped the pages of the ledger to show that I was busy.

“Well, of course,” admitted Rosanna.

“When I see a hog, I think ham and sausage, or candles and soap, which we make from the rendered fat, you know,” I explained.

“Please! I have just eaten,” said Rosanna. “I only mean, I couldn’t do the work you are doing.”

“Well, I would rather be a shopgirl or a maid than a butcher’s assistant,” I admitted. “Better yet, I would prefer not to have to work.”

Rosanna looked embarrassed. Her father was a banker, and she would never have to give up school to take a job.

“Does Margaret need a roast for dinner?” I asked in a businesslike tone.

“Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry that you aren’t in school with me!” Rosanna burst out. She grabbed both my hands. “I want to tell you everything that happens, but I’m afraid to hurt your feelings.”

“It can’t be helped,” I said, pulling my hands away.

Rosanna bit her lip and stepped back. “Lizzie, the reason I came
was to invite you to come and work on the flag tonight. All my school friends will be there. They think it’s a wonderful idea. Annie Baumann’s father paid for the material to show his patriotism, since he could not go to war because of his bad leg.” Rosanna put her hand over her mouth to stop her prattling. “I really want you to come, Lizzie,” she ended simply.

“I’m terribly busy here, you see.”

“Please come. I’ve invited Ginnie Wade, too.”

“Oh, because we’re both poor working girls!” I said before I could stop myself.

“No, because you are my best friend and I miss seeing you,” said Rosanna with cool dignity as she left the shop.

I went home feeling miserable. Things were no better there. Mama looked exasperated and Ben was complaining.

“Sweeping and scrubbing? Those are
girl jobs!”
my brother groused, throwing the broom on the floor.

Mama forced the broom back into his hand, scolding him. “One more outburst and you’ll stir the pot and wear an apron all day tomorrow.”

“There’s no reason you can’t help in the kitchen, Ben,” I said crossly. He was starting to act rebellious and lazy, like Luke, and that made me mad. “House chores are nothing to be ashamed of. I work twice as hard as you do.”

“Stop bickering, you irksome children!” said Mama, and left the house. It was her night to go door-to-door collecting donations and taking them to church to box up for the soldiers.

Alone in the house with my crabby brother, I thought about how lonely I would be if Rosanna were no longer my friend. With a sigh, I borrowed one of Mama’s skirts, because mine were getting too short, grabbed a shawl, and set out for Margaret’s house. The declining sun
cast long golden rays across my path, and the crisp air raised my spirits. A few leaves were letting go from their branches, as if choosing to be the first out of the millions that must fall.

When I arrived, Margaret was sewing uniform trousers for soldiers.

“Those girls are more inclined to gossip than sew. But thankfully Mrs. Pierpont came by and gave them a volume of Lord Tennyson’s poetry to read aloud while they work. Go on in,” she said, nodding toward the drawing room. “And help yourself to another book if you’d like.”

I counted nine girls sitting in a circle, all stitching white stars as big as a man’s hand. Ginnie Wade was there, and several girls I knew from church. Annie Baumann sat leaning on a sewing machine heaped with yards of red cloth. Rosanna was reading aloud, her features expressing a strange passion.

Let the sweet heavens endure,

Not close and darken above me

Before I am quite sure

That there is one to love me!

She caught sight of me and clapped the book shut. “Lizzie, you’ve come!”

I felt everyone’s eyes on me. My face flushed and the skin under my arms felt moist and prickly. Did my hands still smell of brine? I wished I’d remembered to use Mama’s lavender water. I smiled all around the room and said hello. Annie nodded just enough to stir the perfect brown ringlets of her hair.

“Let me show you our flag,” Rosanna said with pride, unfurling a section of cloth with alternating foot-wide bars of red and white. “It will be more than twenty feet long, perhaps the biggest flag ever made!”

My mouth fell open in amazement. Rosanna had been serious after all when she talked about a grand project.

“Would you like to work on a star or a stripe?” she asked.

“What are you going to do with it?” I blurted out, forgetting my shyness.

“You know, send it to our soldiers, to show them our support,” replied Rosanna patiently.

“But what will they
do
with it?” It seemed obvious to me that the flag was far too big to display or carry.

It was suddenly very quiet in the room. Rosanna looked offended. Annie stood up next to her and took hold of a corner of the flag.

“What do you mean?” she asked coldly.

I was thinking that the flag was big enough to serve as an officer’s tent. That, cut into pieces, it would make enough blankets to cover fifteen men.